From the ground, the Elven Quarter was no less impressive than from horseback. There were quite a few passersby. Mostly humans, but there were also elves. Most of them strolled leisurely along the wide sidewalk and the stone paths in the forested park area.
I found the shop the manager recommended almost immediately—it really wasn't far at all. It occupied almost the entire ground floor of a large four-story building, overgrown with spitting weeds. The display cases were quite narrow and protected by dense wrought-iron bars. Behind the glass, I saw armor laid out, obviously forged for humans: elves prefer agility over protection—try running through the woods in a tin can like that. And to hell with the weight. The noise issue is also an issue. Of course, magic could do anything. Even make such armor light and squeaky-quiet. However, that presented other problems, and the need to periodically recharge the enchantments was minimal. However, that was how things were two thousand years ago, and it's entirely possible that these issues have already been resolved by now.
Chuckling, I took the ring off my finger and slipped it into my pocket with the gold. Only then did I open the door and step inside.
The shop's interior was a long, very large hall. Its walls were covered with a wide variety of weapons, hung and arranged by theme: daggers, sabers, swords, two-handed weapons, and bows. While the other weapons were the work of various artisans (some of which seemed reminiscent of not only human but even dwarven, which surprised me), the latter were exclusively the work of our own artisans.
What was interesting was that the store was empty. Rumors of the incident should have spread by now. However, not much time had passed, and I imagine that by this evening, such shops would be packed.
But the owner wasn't in the store.
Shrugging my shoulders to myself, I slowly walked along the shelves, paying particular attention to the daggers and twin swords.
Each item had a price tag. The numbers, written in perfect handwriting, were large enough to raise questions about whether they were measured in silver or gold.
Besides, none of the marks on the blade were familiar to me. Two thousand years is a long time, even for elves. And it's unlikely that any of my contemporaries would have offered their product for sale outside the Great Forest.
The display cases contained various objects and samples of related materials: polishing paste for sharpening blades, scabbards, handles, wrappings, guards, pommels, pieces of carefully tanned leather...
My gaze slid over these objects, and half-forgotten memories of how, a long, long time ago, I once watched a silent master forge a blade, came to mind.
At that time, there was an opinion that a Sword Master should not only be able to swing a weapon, but also create it.
I wonder where I lost my swords? They were made for me, and it would be a real shame not to see them again. My memory even showed me what they were like – graceful bearers of death. How many have I killed with them? I can't count... I can't remember...
If I don't have enough money, I'll have to try reforging my two trophy swords. I might even try buying some mithril and completely reforging the blades. I was taught how to work with magical metals, and I was quite good at it. My mentor even lamented that I wasn't destined to become a swordsmith.
Well, yes. Highborn and weaponsmith are incompatible. At least that's how it was back then, but I doubt our society has changed much since then.
The swords attracted the eye and howled about how they dreamed of entering the enemy.
It was a surprise to me to see straight two-handed swords, forged by elves clearly under the influence of human traditions.
Did our soldiers really start fighting with swords like these on the battlefield? Or were they forged exclusively for humans? I've encountered similar blades, but they were human or dwarven, and their quality left much to be desired. My swords, for example, cut through these blades without any problem. However, looking at the massive two-meter-long sword with its counterguard and the characteristic white color of its flaming blade, I thought that with this example, such a thing wouldn't have been so easy, and it would be better not to expose it to blows from such shoddy steel.
A movement to the left caught my attention. A yawning, green-eyed elf with platinum hair pulled back into a practical short ponytail emerged from the doorway. His clothing was a pleasant lime green, lightly embroidered and embossed with leaf-shaped motifs darker than the fabric they were on.
Yawning infectiously, he took a few steps along the counter toward me. I noted the smoothness of his movements. He was clearly an experienced warrior.
"And I thought I was imagining things..." the elf muttered, looking me over with interest and an appraising glance from head to toe. He turned back into the passage and shouted: "Sallyer! Where are you! Come here! You scoundrel! Where have you been? What the hell is the hall like unattended?" He turned to me again and said: "My name is Virrel. I am the owner of this shop. What did you want?"
I smiled sadly:
"I need certain goods: I had a misfortune on my journey." I spread my arms. "I fell into a swamp and lost almost all the things I had on me. Armor, a bow, weapons." The owner allowed himself an interested peek under the cloak that had parted with my movement. I explained. "Luckily for me, some bandits attacked me. They obviously thought I would be easy prey, but it turned out the opposite..." I smiled broadly. "So, they 'shared' their weapons and things with me. At the same time, I need some things that can only be obtained from my own people..."
Then a young, green-eyed, pure-blooded elf jumped out of the passage. His clothes were lighter.
"Sorry, Uncle. I was only gone for a minute..." he confessed.
Virrel glanced at him with displeasure, but said nothing, probably deciding that he could scold him even after I left:
"And what exactly are you interested in?" he asked.
I started listing:
"I'm thinking of making the bow myself. So, the bowstring and the archer's ring. How much will that cost, by the way?"
The elf looked under my hood:
"If you've come for the best, you've come to the right place. So I'm offering the top-notch product first, but there's also something much cheaper. So listen: a bowstring made of unicorn hair is six gold. If it's made of elf hair, then ten. Then... An archer's ring made of Elan steel with added mithril is two, and one made of pure mithril is twelve."
I took out the trophy gold coin and placed it on the glass counter in front of him:
- Do you take these?
He took it in his hands and threw it:
- That's where I named the price.
- Okay. Then let's give it the best.
He grinned:
- We don't skimp on the onions, do we? - and turned to his nephew: - Sullyer, bring it. - He looked skeptically at the onion blank that I was holding in my hands: - Is this it?
- Yes, - and I add, justifying myself: - I haven't done it for a long time.
I demonstrated the blank and the shop owner commented:
- Not bad in principle, but it's too early to judge. Are you working on it with magic?
- Uh-huh. - I sigh.
Sallier appeared in the room with two wooden boxes in his hand and respectfully handed them over to his uncle. He opened them and showed me in one a very thin, faintly glowing white cord, and in the other an archer's ring, made of white metal and inscribed on the inside with Elven script.
"That will be twenty-one gold coins," said Virrel.
I counted out the money and placed it in front of him. I took the bowstring out of its case. Its ends were already braided with special self-tightening loops, secured with narrow strips of mithril.
- Why does it glow? Doesn't it give away much at night?
Virrel shrugged.
"This glowing magic protects it from moisture and wear. This magic also increases the arrow's speed, so if someone finds it inconvenient to use it at night, they can simply use a different bow or even a different one."
It's tolerable, basically. And I know a spell to hide the light.
I'll turn my attention to the archer's ring. Initially, I wanted to make one for myself from the surplus material I had on the bow blank, but it's one thing to make a ring from wood, albeit magically shaped, and quite another to buy one made of mithril. It's a bit pricey, of course, but this isn't the time to skimp.
Resting one end of the bow on the granite floor, I easily bent it and, bending down, quickly placed the string on the horns. After that, I quickly channeled some mana into my palm and ran it along the bow, releasing the tension and setting its shape. Basically, all that remained was the finishing touches, like shaping and embellishing it. A couple more strokes and that's it. The rest can be done in the room.
Virrel grinned and said quietly:
"Look at the craftsman's work, boy. Few people do it like that anymore. Everyone's abandoned wood sculpting and embraced carving. Blades damage the structure, but sculpting doesn't. It used to be the norm for an elf to fire five arrows a second. Now it's practically a feat." Seeing me straighten up, he asked me, "Anything else?"
- Yes, yes. I need another four dozen arrowheads and a bow case.
- Which ones do you want? Non-removable or regular? One-, two-, three-, or four-bladed? Large? Leaf-shaped? Armor-piercing?
I looked him straight in the eyes:
- Jagged.
Virrel frowned:
- Please understand: I have them, but... I have to ask a question: why do you need them?
I snorted:
"Haven't you heard yet, Virrel? War is coming. Zarzan has sent saboteurs into this kingdom. Last night there was a clash between the Baron's men and them... Many hope it's the last one, but you of all people should understand that there will be more and more. The humans have turned on us, which means blood will soon flow like a river."
He lowered his head and glanced sideways at his nephew:
- They all won't understand that you can't grow a garden on a mountain of corpses.
"How far are we from them?" I asked wearily.
The shop owner sighed:
- Yes... What is your name?
- Ilrruil.
Virrel said:
- Okay, Ilrruil, I'll sell you some jagged arrowheads. How many do you need?
- About four dozen, and probably at least a hundred leaf-shaped ones with grooves for poison.
- Will you take the whistles? - he looked under my hood again.
I shrug:
- I don't even know. How much will it cost?
The elf replied:
- The jagged ones are three silver each, and the leaf-shaped ones are half a silver each. That's seventeen gold pieces in total.
I took all the silver out of my pocket and added seven gold coins.
Virrel, without counting, swept the money from the counter and said to his nephew:
- Stay with the buyer.
He himself left the room.
While waiting for the shop owner, I paid attention to my bow, stabilizing its structure and increasing the tension. Satisfied with the initial result, I carefully bent it to the calculated length.
I chuckle with satisfaction: it turned out very well.
I wish I could decorate it with something else...
Then Virrel returned with a small bag of very thick rawhide, tied with a string, in his right hand, and a rather large steel box in his left.
The elf placed a bag in front of me and said:
- Leaf-shaped and... - he carefully placed the box next to him: - ... jagged.
I opened it and carefully, so as not to accidentally cut myself, took one with my fingers.
- The teeth point backwards... Taylaian. Not bad. Although, I'd like to see the work of someone from Kevelire.
Virrel narrowed his eyes:
"The Kevelire School ceased to exist six hundred years ago. I haven't seen their arrowheads for five hundred years, and very few remember them..."
I sigh in disappointment:
"That's a shame. Their arrowheads were the best I've ever held. The teeth of their arrowheads would break off completely in a wound, and it was impossible to simply close the wound after extraction. I had to pull out at least most of those fragments, and only then work the magic... Okay..." I walked along the counter: "I'd also like a mithril stylus for painting... A bow case... Two large quivers for arrows... How much would that cost?"
Virrel looked up at the ceiling, recalling the numbers:
- Mithril stylus - ten gold, deerskin case - five silver and two quivers of four...
I nod:
- Okay. Go ahead. What else? You have the arrow blanks, otherwise it's a pain to mess around with them.
Virrel took out a case, a stylus and quivers from under the counter and answered:
- There are both raw and varnished ones...
I paid him and started packing. I shoved the arrowheads and stylus into my duffel bag. The bow went into its sheath and onto my back.
- Plumage?
- Thin wooden.
- Then - a hundred raw ones.
Arrow blanks are thin, straight sticks just over a meter long. The idea is that any elf can shorten the arrow if the blank is too long.
Obeying his uncle's signal, Sallier pulled out a tight sheaf of arrows. They cost five coppers apiece. Having paid for them, I distributed the blanks among the quivers and slung both over my left shoulder.
Well, I'm done with the bow. I'll sit around some more this evening and then I'll be fully prepared as an archer. You can't have enough arrows to last a whole war. I'll be pulling my arrowheads out of bodies. It's a bloody business, of course, but necessary. At worst, you can use trophy arrows or even just wooden ones, infusing the wood with Life magic. This is also a very nasty thing: after hitting, such arrows literally grow into the wound, sending deep roots, and if they're not pulled out immediately, then in just a few seconds they'll be impossible to remove at all. Only cut out.
Well, anyway, we'll see how the fighting goes. Maybe this Prince Noir (or whatever his name is?) will come to his senses. Although, judging by everything, such an outcome is highly unlikely. And the Baron wants revenge. At the very least, there will be some fun border shooting.
Having picked up my purchases, I moved on to my last two shopping items - swords and light armor.
"Anything else?" Virrel asked.
I nodded:
"Some kind of light armor, like our scouts wear. Simple and suitable for mobile combat. And twin swords. Inexpensive, unadorned, but high-quality weapons."
Virrel looked at the hanging sets and said thoughtfully:
"A complete scout's outfit is hard to find: the Council of Princes has forbidden its sale outside the Great Forest..." My eyebrows rose in surprise at this, and the shopkeeper continued, "...But I can put together something similar. It'll cost around twenty gold. Weapons are more difficult. I have a pair of 'rile' swords by Master Satoelan. He makes good work, but he can't always find a way to reach mages, so it's considered a lower price point..."
He took two short swords in nondescript scabbards from the wall and handed them to me.
I set my purchases down again and, taking hold of the handles, carefully pulled them from their sheaths. Looking at the blade from tip to hilt, I commented:
"Not bad, actually." I do a quick figure eight at top speed. After listening to a barely audible whistle, I sheathe the blades. "I like it. Although I'm used to 'ate-kael' swords. Well, I can enchant them myself."
Wirrrel looks into the empty space where the blades flashed and says thoughtfully:
"You are a very diverse representative of our people. And a strange one. After the Reformation, the forging of 'ate-kael' was banned. It's been banned for a thousand years. Now, the number of master weaponsmiths who can forge 'ate-kael' can be counted on the fingers of one hand. And the fingers on one hand are more than enough... Seanu et Alir, Mariaret Talru, and Eltaral Tirine."
"So Eltaral-Reed-Pipe is still alive?" I allowed myself a sad smile, looking into his stunned eyes: "I remember him as a very young, romantic youth, working as an apprentice for my teacher, Taril et Rilu. It's sad that my scabbard will remain empty." I allowed myself to weigh the blades in my hands: "So, how much do you want for these blades and the 'running-among-fallen-leaves' costume?"
- Um... Five-fifty gold...
- Okay. I'll get the money now. Or maybe you could go get it with me? I'm staying at Lord Eloril's inn.
Without taking his wide-eyed gaze off me, he nodded sloooowly and waved his hand blindly towards his nephew, as if trying to grab him with his fingers:
- Yes... Sallier, wrap up the groceries and collect everything you need...
His nephew glanced at both him and me in surprise. Shrugging silently, he darted into the inner chambers.
While I was getting my things in my hands more comfortably, he had already managed to turn around, returned and handed a large bundle tied with a couple of straps to his uncle with the words:
- Here are boots, trousers made of soft deerskin with bull leather inserts, a jacket with three-layer inserts, and a cloak enchanted with a 'kindled leaves' spell. Is everything correct?
Virrel nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off me:
- Yes, yes. That's right...
He blindly took the swords and the bundle.
I shrugged:
- Well, then let's go.
I was the first to leave the store and head for the hotel. The elf followed silently behind me. The entire time we walked, I could feel his gaze boring into my back.
Of course, I couldn't help myself and clearly gave myself away. At least partially. I'll have to quickly sneak out of the hotel tonight. Too bad, too bad. I really wanted to sleep in a normal bed.
Eh-h-h-h...
Opening the door, I walked into the hall. The manager was sitting at his counter, writing something in a journal. As I approached him, he looked up at us, glanced at me, and then glanced behind me in surprise.
"Good day to you, Mr. Virrel. You look as if you've lost your cool. Is everything alright?" he asked worriedly.
From behind came the following:
- No... Huh? Yes... Everything is fine.
I pursed my lips:
- Bran... I need the room key: I don't have enough money. I'll pay Virrel for the goods now and then go shopping again.
He nodded:
- M! Of course, of course.
The manager handed me the key.
Taking it, I went up the stairs. I noticed someone's shadow flicker across the landing.
Hmmm. I've been a bit too conspicuous. It's decided: I'm leaving this evening. Or maybe when I get back from the market. I have one more shopping item: contact poison for arrows and a chain. Elvarin pollen is good, of course, but nothing more. I need to get my hands on some kind of nerve agent.
One of the most powerful non-magical contact poisons is made from ground-up caterpillars of the 'dark-eye' butterfly. I made it myself once. It's not difficult. Basically, you collect a bunch of these caterpillars and then grind them into a paste. Even at this stage, this muck is terribly toxic. But if you let this liquid sit in the open air for a week...
It's called poetically: 'Breath of Death.' It stinks terribly. However, when applied to the tips, it dries and loses its scent. But not its terrible properties.
It's a terrible, nasty thing. One particle in a wound, and five minutes later, we have a corpse. And it doesn't matter whether it was a cut or a deep wound. Symptoms: rapidly spreading numbness, breathing problems, and eventually, heart palpitations.
If only I could get my hands on a couple of bottles, I could start such a circus behind enemy lines!
But let's see what's actually being sold here.
The Council of Princes certainly shocked me: ban the forging of swords and the sale of such trivial items as the 'runner-among-the-fallen-leaves' costume? What next? Ban the sale of medicines and poisons? Jewelry? What's left?
Nonsense... I didn't expect that our society would degrade so much.
I opened the door and with a polite wave of my hand invited Virrel into my room.
He walked inside somewhat hesitantly and stopped, greedily scanning the surroundings with his eyes.
Your mother...
I think he knows something about me. I should have stayed out of town.
On the other hand, I did a pretty good job. I'll just go get some poisons and then I can leave the city. The main thing is to not have to worry about leaving my things here.
- Please wait here: I have left behind magical protection.
I took off my cloak and, throwing it on one of the sofas, quickly walked into the room. After disarming the paralyzing spells and allowing the bush to identify me, I took out the money and went out with it to Virrel.
He stood in front of my cloak and stared at the embroidery on the inside.
When I handed the coins to him, he didn't react and I had to say:
- Mr. Virrel! Here is your money.
He turned to me in fear and stared into my eyes almost huntedly.
Oh, Leaf Shadow! Has he really figured something out yet? My hopes are dashed.
I glanced at my cloak. Well, embroidery and embroidery. What did he see in it? My gaze scanned it and came across a very clear image of a leaf, just like the one on my signet ring. Considering it was embroidered with gold thread, the resemblance was perfect.
So what? A leaf is a perfectly ordinary and traditional symbol. Although, each leaf had a tiny, barely noticeable droplet hanging from it. It wasn't red, though.
I don't understand. My memory is still silent about this.
I return my gaze to Virrel. He's recovered somewhat, and occasionally glances past me toward the bed where my purchases and things are scattered.
But we can't kill him here, can we? Too many people have seen him and know he came here.
I repeat:
- Take the money.
And, taking his hand, I slip the coins into his palm and escort him out of the room. Having practically pushed Virrel out the door, I slammed it in the elf's face and listened.
The shop owner stood in front of her for another ten seconds and slowly walked towards the stairs.
The damned demons of Death and the hated Hounds of Atesh!...
We need to leave. Immediately.
I started quickly packing my things, changing into new clothes at the same time.
So, what's left to buy? Poison? I can get by with that, basically. But I bought arrowheads with grooves specifically for it! Damn it!
On the other hand, it's 'Elvarin' blooming season now. It's not exactly the best, but it'll do. I just need to find a bottle.
But 'Breath of Death'... Ah-h-h! Okay, I'll pack my things and go find a herbalist's shop or some other healer with the horses. I'll quickly buy whatever I see there. At a minimum, I'll need a flask to make the poison and dip the tips in. Or better yet, buy or make a small brush for applying the poison. Better yet, buy one.
After changing, I cast a critical eye over myself. I tucked all the noticeable items from my 'old' life into my armor. Everything I'd donned for my change of clothes was of significantly worse quality: rougher stitching in less important places, less precise cutting, and a near-total lack of magic or embellishment...
You'll have to do a little work yourself, charming your clothes to keep them from wearing out.
Well, you should pay special attention to your melee weapons.
Hmm... I'm so full of mana right now, you can't even get enough. Maybe I should reforge them myself? I have some captured swords and even a mithril stylus. Once I'm done with the bow, I can reforge these blades into a pair of 'ate-kael'. I have sheaths for them. But they'll be bare blades that still need some finishing. And if I can sharpen them with magic, then everything else... What a demon! But in principle, it's better to have a pair of ugly 'ate-kael' than to have none. Especially since I'll be making them for battle, not for display.
Besides this, the new short swords will also need some work.
Where can I find a place for this? Where no one will interfere?
What if we go to the baron? He should have a forge...
The idea is interesting...
I destroyed all my guard spells and forced the bush to crawl out the window and join the existing system. I grab my things under my arms and approach the threshold.
Turning around, I once again glanced around the room to see if I had forgotten anything and, after briefly saying goodbye to the house, I went out into the corridor.
Someone's shadow flickered on the stairs again. The elf is watching me. What does she want? Maybe she already knows something too? Gr-r-r-r...
I left the key sticking out of the door lock and, walking down the corridor, went up to the window.
The window looked out onto the courtyard.
It was getting dark. A worker was grooming my horses. I'll have to give him a silver coin to keep quiet about my departure for a bit. I could threaten him, but that's a bit off-putting.
Careful not to drop one of my bags, I opened the window and looked down. Finding only hard-packed earth beneath, I glanced sideways at the ladder and quickly jumped out.
Upon landing, I practically squatted, dampening my momentum. If I'd been unloaded, I wouldn't have needed to be so careful—it was only four meters high. But I only had about fifty kilograms of various metals.
Straightening up, I quickly walked over to my horses and began to quickly put saddles on them.
The worker turned to me and was about to ask a question, but I put my finger to my lips and gave him a silver coin.
He nodded understandingly and began to help me. We finished in a couple of minutes, and I, taking the horses by the bridle, said to the man:
- I have urgent matters to attend to. I'm leaving for good. The key is in the door.
As I was leading the horses out of the yard, I glanced out the window I had jumped out of and saw an elf watching me closely.
*****
Virrel stumbled into his shop as if drunk. He walked over to a chair in the corner and practically fell onto it.
His nephew, who looked into the room the next second, immediately saw him and rushed towards him in fear, saying:
- Uncle! What's wrong with you? Didn't he pay you? Did he really attack you?
Virrel turned a slightly mad look at him:
- To hell with this damned gold... - He threw the coins he was clutching in his fist onto the floor with all his might. They sprayed heavily in all directions. Without noticing it, the elf whispered: - Oh, gods! I saw a living legend... That which for the Great Forest is not worth all the gold in the world! Hope... - the elf swallowed and, looking at his slightly trembling fingers, continued: - But at the same time, the worst nightmare... - He looked up at the ceiling and, as if not seeing the ceiling, exhaled emptyly: - But why? Answer! Why!? - He lowered his gaze and continued thoughtfully: - Although... When, if not now?...
His nephew quickly collected the scattered coins and turned back to the shop owner:
- Uncle? What are you talking about?
"I saw the Golden Leaf on his clothes..." he answered devastatedly.
"And what?..." Sullier began to say, but, meeting his uncle's gaze, which was almost crazed by the sound of these words, he quickly corrected himself, continuing: "...is this?"
Virrel looked at his face for a couple of seconds, and then, sighing heavily, said tiredly:
- Come up to my office. There's a thin, dark green book with a gold binding in the bookcase. It's called 'Heraldry of the Great Houses'...
Sallyer exclaimed indignantly:
- Yes, I know this book by heart! But I don't remember the Great House with the Golden Leaf crest!
Virrel's face twisted with pain. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He closed them tightly and whispered:
- The Golden Leaf should be on the first page... On the very first one.
"Oh, gods!" his nephew gasped in fear. "But they all..."
"Not all..." the shop owner answered quietly.
*****
There were quite a few passersby, and most of them were human. Apparently, the Elven Quarter was a popular destination for city dwellers.
Leading my mounts through the crowd, I tried to determine if anyone was following me, but I seemed to have overestimated my skills. And even if I had noticed a tail, what would I have done? Try to escape? I was too big and visible a target to do that, even if necessary.
I'd like to point out that there are far more patrols than during the day. Oh, right – the caravan carrying corpses and prisoners should have arrived in the city by now...
Outside a small shop stood a large steel sign depicting a skillfully forged white flower, the 'Athelos.' If nothing has changed since my time, it is the symbol of the Healing School.
Next to the doors stood two horses tethered to a large steel railing. A rather neatly dressed young man was looking after them.
Oh, but once upon a time they even gave me a Master's degree in this field...
By the way, my memory seems to be recovering: bits and pieces of different memories are constantly surfacing.
I'm even starting to wonder. Who was I, exactly? One of the Guardians of Peace?
I stopped in front of the shop window and stared at the multi-colored glass bottles displayed on the shelf, obviously to attract customers.
Highborn...
He knew Princess Aviléa so personally that he even understood her emotions. And he felt her death so deeply that...
He who knew the way to the Tree of Silluri and carried her body to it...
This all seriously narrows the circle.
I can just learn the story of those times and... I can find myself. Get a name.
A fiancé? Unlikely. Just a lover? A suitor? I don't think our relationship was like that. A personal bodyguard? Just a member of the retinue? More realistically...
What if... After all, white armor...
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a creaking door. A man in light infantry armor emerged from the shop, a sword at his waist. He held two small glass flasks. One contained a clear turquoise liquid, the other a tiny bit of red dust. 'Last Chance' and 'Berserker'. Not cheap, even in such small quantities. 'Last Chance' is a very powerful healing potion. Sure, it won't regrow a severed arm, but it will heal from a penetrating wound to the stomach or something else. 'Berserker' is a powerful narcotic. It completely blocks pain, increases strength and speed, and eliminates fear. It has many side effects and should be used with extreme caution. The downside is that it's addictive and impairs thought processes. Some believe the orcs' notorious stupidity is a consequence of this nastiness...
The soldier tucked the flasks into his bosom and approached one of the horses. The boy immediately untied the reins and politely handed them to its owner. The owner slipped him a copper coin and mounted his horse. Obeying his owner's command, the horse slowly walked through the crowd.
I also approached the boy and asked him:
- Do they sell arrow poisons here?
"As far as I know, yes, sir," he replied and bowed.
When he straightened up, I handed him a copper coin and said:
- If anyone is hanging around my property, call me immediately.
After waiting for his nod, I handed him the reins and, opening the door, entered the store.